Undeniable
by maripaz6
Summary: When Tom Riddle summons a demon, he doesn't expect a boy to appear in his pentagram, let alone a boy from a galaxy far far away, with whom he shares an undeniable connection. ONESHOT. Dedicated to Carolare Scarletus, aka The Lorax.


**House:** Slytherin

 **Category:** Bonus, Star Wars

 **Word Count:** 2722

 **Prompt:** [Word] Undeniable

 **A/N:** To the fantabulous Lorax for helping me so so much with this bonus! She's been the greatest beta-alpha-cheerleader I could have ever asked for. This story is for you, lovely.

oO0Oo

Tom checked his pentagram for the umpteenth time, making sure the white chalk lines were perfectly straight and matched the image in his manual _exactly_. Summoning demons and devils was a dangerous task, and those who were not careful were often burned. Literally. And often eaten alive. However, this dangerous task was crucial in delving deeper into the Dark — in certain areas, the Hogwarts curriculum was quite limited — and after months of scrupulous research, he knew he was ready. With clear, confident voice, Tom slowly read aloud the old Latin incantation, the words gaining momentum, his voice becoming an unstoppable torrent of garbled words; then he reached the pinnacle, and when he pronounced the final syllable, the candles burst with unholy energy burning with brilliant, blinding white light and filling the room with smoke.

The smoke slowly cleared. But instead of a bloodied creature with a hollowed pit where its mouth should be, or claws that, with just looking at them, could slice through skin, Tom saw a boy. A human boy. One who which certainly didn't _seem_ as though he came from the pits of Hell, although something about his eyes said he'd seen it all.

Still, Tom hadn't expected a boy to appear before him.

As the last of the smoke dissipated, the light of the candles shone fully upon the face of a darkened figure dressed in nothingness. Yet a closer look at the olive-skinned boy sitting cross-legged before him only raised more questions than it answered. Who was this, and why had Tom's demon-summoning ritual called _him_ into the pentagram?

The boy stirred. "Where am I?" He seemed just a few years older than Tom, yet he held what Tom could only describe as the innocence of a child. It was… surprising, especially given how haunted his eyes were.

"Quiet, demon!" Tom snapped. From within the pentagram, hardened eyes carefully watched him. "What do they call you? Who do you serve? What level of Hell do you hail from?"

"I serve _nobody_. And I do not hail from Hell."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Demons tell all manner of lies. Who, or what, are you?"

"I'm Anakin Skywalker," the boy said proudly, lifting his chin and meeting Tom's eyes. "Who are you?"

"I am Tom Riddle. Now tell me demon, where do you hail from?"

"My home world is Tatooine. It is a desert planet in the Outer Rim."

"That sounds pleasant," Tom said, tilting his head and appraising Anakin.

"It was…for the most part." Anakin told him, keeping a polite distance away from Tom, his voice entirely too bland. Tom knew that he was keeping things from him, though, he wasn't certain as to why. Granted, he hadn't said a word about his own world, but that shouldn't matter too much to a demon… however, Anakin immediately disproved this theory by saying,"Tell me about yourself."

"There isn't much to tell."

"There has to be something."

Tom exhaled sharply, never once dropping his mask, not that Anakin would be able to see through him; he was sure of that. What he wasn't certain of was Anakin's intentions. Why would this boy — who might still be a demon, Tom wasn't sure — want to know anything about him? It made him feel so open and vulnerable, and Tom was anything but weak.

"One day, I will be the most powerful wizard in the world," he stated. He wasn't certain ho Anakin would react — would he laugh, like so many of his Housemates had, or would he smile and pat his head like so many of the Professors did, as though they were humoring the fancies of a child? "I will prove just how worthy I am. I am Tom Riddle, and I will be _respected_."

But to his surprise, Anakin nodded. "I understand," he replied. "One day, I will be the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy, and everyone who doubted me will be proven wrong. My mother… she would be so proud of me."

Tom didn't know what to say. He wanted to sympathize with the boy, to share that he, too, wished to make his mother proud… but what he said instead was, "I don't know my parents."

"You've got to know something."

"All I know," he said disdainfully, eyes glowing with intensity Anakin has never seen before, "is that my life has been a complete lie. My mother used a… a potion on my good for nothing father, and I was thrown into an orphanage after birth— I grew up with want, hunger, and struggle — I know there exists great power in the world, and I _will have it_."

Strangely enough, Anakin did not seem nonplussed by Tom's declaration; instead, he said, seemingly sincere, "I'm sorry."

Tom looked at him, surprised. "I don't need your sympathy."

"It isn't sympathy," Anakin replied. "I _understand_. I grew up a slave — but one day, soon, I _will_ be the greatest in the galaxy. I have trained with the Jedi, and now that I have surpassed their knowledge, I am training with the Dark Side. The Jedi masters would never allow it, but I will do _whatever_ it takes."

"What is this 'Dark Side' you speak of?" Tom asked, his eyes glinting with greed. This could be the information he was searching for. Anakin's situation seemed incredibly similar to his own: he was bright, born into poverty, and held back from his rightful place. "Tell me!"

Anakin didn't so much as flinch at Tom's tone. "In my world, it's what separates the strong from the weak. The strong embrace their passion, opening themselves up to the Dark. In doing so, they achieve victory, and through victory, they are freed."

"I see... " Tom murmured. "How do you use this 'Dark Side'?"

Anakin paused. "I'm not sure," he replied. "But I think— I think I could show you."

"How," Tom said, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Anakin seemed human, but many demons took unassuming forms… his manual had warned him of such tricks.

"Stand beside my pentagram," Anakin answered. "Take my hand. Then I can show you the Force."

Somehow, he found himself trusting this boy, and so Tom took Anakin's hand. It was nothing more than a soft trickle that piqued his curiosity, until it the energy became much more than a soft hum running up his arms and down his back. Tom's entire body practically tingled as the foreign sensation drummed through him. It began slowly, and he embraced it — then, its sheer immensity became too much. His body _howled_ at the exquisite taste. Jerking back as if a snake had bitten him, he glared at Anakin.

"What was that?" he spat. "I know you felt it too. Don't think about lying to me." Just to be certain the insufferable boy demon wasn't, he met his eyes, staring straight into his soul. Disjointed images flashed before his eyes — Anakin soaring through a pod-racing finish line, a circle of strange creatures, a secretive wedding with the most beautiful woman Tom's ever seen… and throughout it all, threading through the memories, there lay a thirst, a drive to do good — and then, suddenly, Tom found himself enveloped in thick, heavy, impenetrable darkness. He thrashed about, clawing at it, but it was to no avail; somehow, this infernal boy had managed to shield his mind.

Still trapped in the darkness, Tom cast his eyes about, and a faint angry red glow caught his attention. He stumbled towards it… and then he found Anakin's image towering over him. But it wasn't the boy who sat cross-legged in the pentagram. It was a different version of him. His face, once smooth, was now sharply hollowed, and his eyes were now blood red and darkly lined. A sinister shadow casted an ominous glow around his frame. This Anakin seemed older, harder, crueler: what he was witnessing now was the future. Anakin drew a short, silver cylinder — at his touch, it began to hum, glowing a deep, angry red, and he began to advance on Tom...

Realizing just how dangerous it was, Tom hastily withdrew from Anakin's mind. Anakin… he was darker. The strange force that protected his mind… it was evil and menacing. He shook his head, clearing it, then he realized that Anakin was standing in the center of the pentagram, the veins on his neck bulging in barely-contained anger.

"What did you see?" Anakin hissed, glowering at the younger boy.

"I didn't see anything."

"Don't lie to me!" Just as quickly as he was able to throw Tom out of his mind, Anakin reached out, and to Tom's horror, he felt his body being _lifted_ off the ground. Anakin advanced toward him as though the charms keeping them apart would falter and allow him to attack. Tom knew better, but the experience was nevertheless disconcerting; after a quick _stupefy_ , he ensured that Anakin crumpled to the ground, and that the strange force the boy emitted would cease to affect him.

Staring at the boy's still body, shuddering as he remembered the sheer power of the force that had gripped him and manipulated his body in ways he had never before experienced, Tom knew what he had to do. Grabbing his manual, he began the incantation of banishment.

As he watched the boy's form shimmer and slowly fade, he felt the strangest stirrings of sorrow. This boy demon might have been summoned from another dimension, he might have been from another galaxy, but they had had a startling amount in common. Born into poverty, but with undeniable power, they had forged their own destinies, rising from the depths of sludge to shine like the diamonds they were meant to be. And now they had found each other.

As much as he hated to admit it, the connection between them was undeniable. And because Anakin was so much like him, he couldn't trust him. So he watched the boy disappear, and pushed the matter from his mind.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He wouldn't think of Anakin for many years later, until decades had passed and he was sitting within the hallowed walls of Hogwarts in the same room that he as a sixth year had summoned Anakin. The sounds of war raged on outside, deafening him. Looking around, he wondered about Anakin, and taken by a whim, he decided to summon him again. It would be interesting to see where his counterpart had ended up.

Drawing the same chalk pentagram on the ground, Voldemort chanted through the same incantation that he had all those years ago. He thought about what Anakin would look like now. Would the boy demon have chosen light, or dark? He certainly knew what he had chosen.

Looking down at his pale, thin, slender, translucent, spidery hands, he frowned a little. He used to be whole, but then the Dark had begun demanding sacrifices… but that was the price to pay for ultimate power. He wondered if Anakin had chosen to do so. In his case, power had certainly come first.

He started chanting the summons, and when he reached the climax, the candle flames were scratching the ceiling and the room was filled with smoke. Voldemort inhaled deeply, savoring the smoky scent, but before he could speak, the demon did.

"Who are you?" the words echoed in the small enclosure of the abandoned classroom, and Voldemort closed his eyes, silently transporting himself back fifty-four years. But although the words were similar, the voice was not familiar at all. It was raspy, heavy, strained. It couldn't have been Anakin's. Certain his incantation had failed, Voldemort opened his eyes, ready to vanish the demon back to from whence it came. But then Voldemort noticed a low buzz, a humming, almost, emanating from the pentagram — he opened his eyes, then froze. He stared at the strange figure, trying to take in as much as the robotic man and the metal-looking instrument as he could It certainly wasn't Anakin's form there. In place of a slender boyish frame with off-white robes, there loomed a black figure that seemed more machine than man, whose breathing was deep, regulated, mechanical, and... lifeless. The figure's mouthpiece did not move as it said again, "Who. Are. You."

"I am Lord Voldemort," he answered, gripping the Death Stick in his hand. "Now, demon. What do they call you?"

A deep breath issued from the machine before the… man spoke again, his voice thick and raspy. "I am Darth Vader." There was a pause. "What is this place?"

From what Voldemort could see, the man had been in the middle of a spar. Now that he was looking closer, he spotted dislocated pieces of machinery littering the floor around the man, and his large frame was shrouded with an angry red light. "You are within Hogwarts. Where are you from, demon?"

"I was in the middle of a battle," Darth Vader told him, not quite answering the question. Voldemort wasn't certain, but there seemed to be reproach in the man's tone.

Voldemort's red eyes met the empty black pits of the man's mask. "And who were you fighting?"

"I… I am not sure." The silence was filled with heavy breathing; then, the words, "I am… conflicted."

"You are far weaker than I expected," Voldemort replied, circling the pentagram.

"Regret is not weak. I… I have made mistakes. I have made decisions I am not proud of. I wish I were still Anakin Skywalker."

"Anakin?" Voldemort regarded the monstrous mechanical man before him. "The years have not been kind to you."

Darth Vader slowly turned. "Are you… Tom Riddle?" Voldemort nodded. "You are a changed man."

"I am no man," Voldemort replied evenly. "I have achieved the ultimate power: immortality."

"Yes, but at what cost?" It was difficult to tell through the voice distorter if Darth Vader was being sarcastic or sincere. "I paid the price for my ambition. I know you shall as well. We are too similar, Tom. Our connection is undeniable. Both of us, born with nothing; both of us, dying with nothing. My son and daughter will not grieve my passing. I have shaped the galaxy, but now my youthful ambition seems so… empty. But it is too late for me. I shall die in battle, trying to atone for my mistakes. Send me back."

Voldemort looked disdainfully at the robotic man before him. Then, he thought again of Anakin's words, and was hit with a sudden swell of emotion. Born into poverty, he was one with Anakin. Perhaps once, he had desired respect, power, and fear… but now, it was empty. Yet there remained one difference between them. Anakin had lost everything, and now he was ready to give up his life to make his final act a good, meaningful one. Voldemort gazed into the pentagram, seeing himself in Anakin, and oddly enough, he felt the strangest feeling below his ribcage. It was sorrow mixed with regret… unwilling to deal with it, Voldemort pushed it away.

"Be gone, demon," Voldemort spat, raising his hand to banish him from his sight. "Perhaps, in your next life, your ambitions shall lead you to happiness. As for now, I vanish you."

He mumbled something in Latin, missing the words that issued from Anakin's lips as the robotic interface muffled the sound. But nevertheless, as Anakin disappeared in a whirl of smoke, Voldemort said, "Goodbye, Anakin. I'll see you on the other side."

Then he left the room, making his way towards the Forbidden Forest. After all, he was fighting his own battle in his realm, and his true calling awaited him in the darkness. When he fell at Harry Potter's hand, his own Killing Curse striking the fatal blow, his soul splitting from his body and spiralling off into the sky, he knew that Anakin had been correct, and that the connection truly had been undeniable. The remorse was there, remorse for all he had done. Perhaps on the other side, he would see Anakin again, not the monster he had become.

And perhaps Anakin would see him as Tom, not Voldemort.


End file.
